


You're a Liar and That's the Truth

by MathClassWarfare, RocketSparkle



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol, Art, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Clones, Dubious Science, Gen, Headcanon, Major Original Character(s), POV Alternating, Politics, Pre-Canon, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21802624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/pseuds/MathClassWarfare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocketSparkle/pseuds/RocketSparkle
Summary: How baby Prompto gets out of Niflheim.
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia & Original Character(s), Verstael Besithia & Ardyn Izunia, Weskham Armaugh & Camelia Claustra
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22
Collections: FFXV Minibang 2019





	You're a Liar and That's the Truth

**Author's Note:**

> I was so thrilled to work with Rocket Sparkle on this! Her art is [here](https://twitter.com/RocketSparkley/status/1210599143896420352?s=20), and embedded in the fic, below.
> 
> The title is a line from [Actor Out of Work](https://youtu.be/AZW9NYX6JZA) by St. Vincent.

* _Spring 735_ *  
* _First Magitek Production Facility, Eusciello_ * 

“. . . and to think that not a decade ago, the yield of embryos was in the mere dozens! With numbers like these, the Empire will be truly unstoppable!” Verstael swings his arm high, nearly sloshing the wine out of his glass, and unleashes that mad, booming laugh of his. 

Ardyn regards him over the edge of his own glass as he sips. He doesn’t need to feign disinterest. This conversation is interminable, and he has the pleasure of repeating it nightly. 

“The Empire,” Ardyn sighs, pushing a wilted leaf away from the rest of his salad, “is already unstoppable.”

“Yes, but just _think_ what—”

“Is this the garula that my hunters brought in?” Ardyn squints at the cut of meat on his plate.

After all this time, Verstael still has enough self-respect to look affronted by the interruption. “Of course it is! Only the most precious, wild-caught game for our dear Chancellor.” He grins, and raises an eyebrow as he sips his wine. 

Ardyn refrains from commenting on his companion’s attempt at sarcasm and cuts into the steak. His refusal to consume Verstael’s lab-grown meat continues to be a point of contention between them. Ardyn allows himself a small smile as he chews. 

“Will you be joining us in Laboratory D tomorrow morning?” Verstael asks. “I’ve just received some testing equipment and I would like to try it out. It will allow me to read the electromagnetic waves during your daemonifications.”

Ardyn responds with a noncommittal hum and takes another bite of steak. 

Verstael’s eyes drop to his plate. “Well, please do come by tomorrow,” he says with less vigor. “It could prove to be very interesting.” 

“And what do you expect to see in these readings?” Ardyn regrets asking the question as soon as it leaves his mouth.

With his eyes sparkling, and recklessly waving his fork, Verstael proceeds to tell him all the excruciating details. Ardyn only catches about half of it, but no matter. He’ll no doubt hear it all again in the morning.

__

* _Crownsguard Offices, Insomnia_ * 

Cor sits at his desk, reviewing the most recent memorandum in the file before him. It’s a summary of the intelligence they’ve been able to gather so far on Niflheim’s scientific research. There isn’t much there. 

The mass of Imperial troops grows daily, closing in on the wall—itself far closer than when he was a kid. He knows that the secret to their enemy’s military strength is out there somewhere, probably in Eusciello, in a laboratory in the woods.

There’s a knock at the doorframe.

“Come in,” he says, looking up.

A slight young woman in a white lab coat takes a few steps into the office and stands waiting for instructions. 

“Please.” Cor gestures at the chair on the other side of his desk.

She brushes her long braid over one shoulder as she sits, then looks at him from behind deep-set, unreadable eyes. Cor can’t remember whether she’s one of the king’s war orphans. He recognizes that closed-off expression—that bracing for the worst. It’s the same as he sees in Drautos. When he’s being honest, he sees it in himself, too.

“Hopefully someone mentioned your upcoming deployment,” he begins.

She nods once. “I know that I’m going abroad next week. That’s it.”

“Well, I’m here to tell you the rest—or as much as I can.” 

He slides a photocopied map out of the file and presents it to her.

“Niflheim,” she breathes.

Cor nods. He’d heard that she was born there. He doesn’t ask whether this will be her first time going back.

“If all goes as planned, we’re ultimately sending you here.” He points with a pen at a spot to the southeast of Gralea. “According to our intelligence, there’s a facility somewhere in this area—military research. We think it’s somehow connected to those inhuman soldiers.”

“What kind of research?”

“That’s unclear. Your background is in chemistry?”

“Yes—biology, zoology, and genetics, as well.”

“Good. It could be any of that. Or none. We don’t know.”

“Understood.”

Cor opens a drawer and pulls out a small manilla envelope. “Your identification and immigration papers for Accordo,” he says, handing it to her. “You’ll be using the name Aquillia Natalis, and you’re going to study abroad—culinary school.”

The hint of a smile appears at the corners of her lips. “I’ve heard good things about the program.”

“Our contact, Weskham Armaugh, will brief you on the next steps. We’re counting on him to get you into the lab.”

She nods.

“We’ll be expecting you to check in on a bi-weekly basis, at least. Use this number.” He hands her a post-it note with an Altissian phone number scrawled across it, then leans back in his chair. “I know I don’t need to tell you this, but that can’t leave this building.”

“Of course.” 

“Any questions?”

She purses her lips slightly and shakes her head.

“Then enjoy the trip.”

They stand and conclude the briefing with a handshake.

“Thank you,” she says. 

“Thank _you_. What you’re doing is critical for the war effort.” 

She dips her chin in silent acknowledgment of his words, then departs.

* _Opera House, Altissia_ * 

When Camelia arrives at her private box for the opening night performance of The Mystical Ocarina, Weskham is already there. Her smile upon seeing him is genuine. 

“Hello, Weskham.” 

“Camelia,” he says, returning the smile and standing to greet her with a light kiss on the cheek.

They take their seats and order drinks when the server comes by. The show won’t be starting for another ten minutes, at least. 

“You look lovely this evening.” Weskham raises his glass. “To Vivienne Westwood?”

“To Westwood,” she laughs, joining the toast. “Just don’t tell anyone this gown is from last fall.” 

Weskham chuckles softly into his glass.

Camelia sighs and relaxes into the plush velvet seat.

“Long day?” Weskham asks.

She turns her head to look at him. “I just spent the afternoon entertaining Besithia and the Chancellor.” 

That should tell him what kind of day she’s had. The chief researcher of the Niflheim Empire is irritating enough on his own, and there’s something about Ardyn Izunia that makes her skin crawl. These meetings are probably her least favorite part about being president of Altissia’s Chamber of Commerce.

_“Hmm,”_ Weskham huffs a soft breath. “What do they want from you this time?”

“What _don’t_ they want? Money, tech, people—you name it.”

“I’m sure they’ll put all of Accordo’s resources to very good use,” he says with a wry smile.

“Besithia would have us believe that he’s on the cusp of unlocking the secrets of life itself.” She rolls her eyes.

Weskham lowers his voice and leans in close. “Well, our friend seems to think he’s stumbled across something significant.” 

_“Pfft.”_ Camelia shakes her head, and her curls brush against his cheek. “What _friend_?” 

The Lucian ruling class must have nothing better to do than concoct nightmarish scenarios about what’s going on far away in Niflheim. It continues to baffle Camelia that Weskham hasn’t cut ties with them after they allowed his home to be destroyed, and she’s still skeptical of their usefulness. Wasn’t it Lucian meddling that caused the Empire to insert itself so firmly in Accordo’s affairs? The fallout from Regis’s mess scattered the resistance and forced its remaining leaders—herself included—to adopt a new approach.

“I suppose your gentleman callers will be back before too long?” 

“Please, don’t remind me,” she groans. “I helped them get a line of credit. Maybe it will hold them off for a few months.”

“You mentioned they need people, though.”

She nods. “It seems they are not satisfied with the bright young minds coming out of the University of Gralea.” 

“The grass is always greener.”

“Maybe if they would put some resources in education—”

A hush spreads across the crowd, like a wave. The performance is about to begin. 

“Well,” Weskham whispers into her ear. “What you might see as a tedious cocktail hour, I would call an opportunity for mutually-beneficial collaboration.”

Camelia frowns. These days, she always acts with the utmost caution. In order to serve and protect her people, she cannot risk disturbing her current arrangement with the Empire. She’s well positioned for a successful candidacy for First Secretary and, from all accounts, Niflheim has no plans to stand in her way.

Still, there are ways to avoid exposure while assisting with a thing like this. And it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to get one of Cor Leonis’s people a job with Besithia. They’ve funneled others—delivery drivers, maintenance staff, cafeteria workers—into Imperial facilities before. A scientist presents a different kind of challenge, but it isn’t insurmountable. It may prove worthwhile to Accordo, if they learn anything useful. Stranger things have been known to happen.

So, against her better instincts, she leans in close and replies, “Perhaps.”

* _Summer_ *   
* _Salis School of Cuisine, Altissia_ * 

Weskham moves slowly around the room, stopping occasionally to correct or compliment a student’s technique, or to sample the sauce they’re working on. 

“Well done today, everyone,” he says, signaling to the class that they should start washing up.

At the close of the hour, all but one of the students filter out of the classroom.

Natalis is wiping down her station, which is already pristine. She looks up at him expectantly.

“Your béchamel was really quite good,” he says. 

“Thank you, Chef.”

“You’re working hard and it shows. I hope you’ll also take some time to enjoy yourself—see the city.”

“Yes, Chef, I will. I was actually thinking of going to Galviano Arena this evening. Any tips?”

The code-phrase confirms his earlier suspicion that this was the student the Crownsguard was sending his way. He grins and says, “I always recommend betting on the side that’s going to win.”

Her gaze drops to the floor, and she begins to smile. “Good advice.” 

When she looks up again, Weskham says, “Just in case it doesn’t work out at the arena, might I interest you in an opportunity to earn some income?”

“Certainly. What’s the gig?” 

“I’ve been asked to cater an event on Friday, and one of the students I usually bring on jobs like this has taken ill.” 

“What’s the menu?” she asks, wrinkling her brow. 

“I haven’t decided, but no need to worry. It will be simple fare—fresh ingredients, uncomplicated preparation. Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.” 

Her expression is unreadable, which is good. Maybe she can hold her own with the rest of it.

She nods once. “Alright.” 

“Excellent. We meet here at ten o’clock Friday morning to prep. Don’t be late.” 

“I wouldn’t dare.”

* _Annual Chamber of Commerce Gala, Altissia_ * 

Plinia Tullas, Chief Executive Officer of Celluteck, snatches a champagne flute from a passing tray. She’s already had several this evening, but who’s counting? And anyway, she’s celebrating tonight. 

She makes eye contact with the Chamber of Commerce President across the ballroom. Camelia Claustra smiles and raises her glass, and Plinia returns the gesture. Claustra’s company, Coici, was largely responsible for the success of Celluteck’s initial public offering earlier in the week—purchasing a majority of the shares. Now, Plinia has meetings scheduled with potential investors who are interested in directing more venture capital her way. This is a time for growth, innovation, and taking risks. She has never been more ready.

Dozens of eyes follow Plinia as she crosses the room. Voices fall into whispers. She can almost taste the jealousy, but tries not to enjoy it too much.

“Doctor Tullas,” Claustra greets her as she approaches, “I believe congratulations are in order.”

“Why, thank you.” Plinia tilts her head. “We’re very pleased with our showing this week.”

“As am I.” Claustra smiles, without warmth. “I look forward to working together.” 

Plinia takes a sip of champagne to gather her thoughts. Claustra’s company now owns the controlling share in Celluteck and stands to profit greatly from their success. It cannot be easy for this successful, ambitious woman—someone who is used to relying on her own merits and hard work—to have so much riding on the fate of another company. 

She sets the empty glass on Claustra’s table, fixes her with an earnest look and says, “We’re going to do great things together. I know it.”

Camelia begins to laugh, then something catches her attention. “Speaking of great things . . .” She gestures over Plinia’s shoulder at someone approaching. “Here comes our masterful chef!”

The person responsible for all of the delectable appetizers greets Claustra with a kiss on the cheek. His whites and hat are impeccable, and Plinia can’t help but notice how his hand lingers on the Chamber President’s back.

“Doctor Tullas, please allow me to present Weskham Armaugh.” Claustra touches the chef’s shoulder as she introduces him. “Weskham, this is Doctor Plinia Tullas, CEO of Celluteck.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chef Armaugh. You’ve certainly been getting a lot of buzz! I’ve been dying to try your cuisine—what luck that the Chamber snagged you this evening.”

Camelia laughs. “What luck, indeed!” Then she begins to move away from the table. “Please. Enjoy. I see Peniculus over there and I haven’t had the chance to congratulate him on his daughter’s wedding.”

Weskham’s eyes follow Camelia as she crosses the room, then he turns back to Plinia, half-smiling. “Thank you for your kind words. I’ve been fortunate enough to have the opportunity to cook for the right people. And here we are,” he says with a graceful wave of his hand.

“Well, I hope some more of the right people are here tonight. Everything is so delicious.”

He tips his head in an expression of gratitude, then says, “Celluteck has also been getting quite a lot of press, haven’t you? Things are going well?”

Plinia grins. “Yes, we are very happy. Now if only we could hire as fast as we’re ready to grow.” 

“You’re hiring?”

“Yes, if you know anyone who can work in a biochemistry lab, please send them our way!” She laughs.

“Actually . . .” He looks around and catches the attention of a young woman also wearing whites and a smaller hat. She must be one of the line cooks.

Quickly approaching the table, the cook asks, “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Weskham gives her a kind smile. “Doctor Tullas, this is one of my students, Aquillia Natalis. She used to work as a scientist.”

“Well—science teacher,” Aquillia corrects him, looking sheepish. “And that was back in Lucis, of all places.”

“It’s good to hear that they teach science there, at least!” Plinia laughs. “I thought it was all magic and royal bloodlines.”

Aquillia smiles conspiratorially. “You’re not far off, to be honest. What I taught was very rudimentary—biology and chemistry. Even in the universities, they aren’t doing anything at the level of research you have here in Accordo. And the private sector is practically nonexistent. Here, you’re mapping the human genome—at Celluteck, you’re identifying the root causes of chronic illnesses. You don’t need magic to make a real difference in the lives of everyday people.”

This girl seems smart. Plinia likes her. She puts a hand over her heart, and says, “That is so true.” Then she pulls a card out of her purse. “I have no doubt your background gives you an edge in the kitchen, but if you ever feel the urge to get back into the lab, please give me a call.”

Aquillia takes the card and looks at it a moment, then back up at Plinia. “Thank you,” she says, brightly. “I’ll think about it.”

* _The Leville, Altissia_ * 

She can see them sitting there at the hotel bar before she even walks through the doors. Verstael Besithia is perched on a bench, legs dangling. He almost looks like a child playing supervillain in that ridiculous coat that he wears—the collar on that thing. The scientist is gazing up at his Chancellor, who is leaning casually against the bar. Ardyn Izunia’s well-worn hat and ornate scarf project a sort of bohemian elegance that Camelia doesn’t hate. That doesn’t mean she’s any more eager to meet with the pair, however. 

She stands for a moment under the awning, as the rain from the summer storm splashes at the back of her coat. Then she shakes out her umbrella, steels herself for the unpleasantries to follow, and walks inside.

“Gentlemen!” she calls out, floating over to the bar. She allows Izunia to take her hand and kiss it. He must think he’s very charming. 

She catches Besithia sneering at them before he puts on a smile and says, “I thank you for agreeing to meet us, President Claustra!”

“Please, you can call me Camelia.” She takes a seat and doesn’t waste any time getting the bartender’s attention. “Whiskey, neat. Please.” 

The bartender nods and pulls over a step ladder to reach the top shelf. 

“Allow me to buy you a drink, Camelia!” Besithia flashes an off-putting grin. 

“You’re very kind.” She pulls a crisp bill out of her pocketbook and slides it across the bar. “But shouldn’t you save your resources for your research?” When she sips the warm, woody liquor, she can’t help but smile. This is one of her favorites.

“Ah, yes. Resources are indeed limited. That is, in fact, why we asked you here today.”

Standing behind Besithia, the Chancellor rolls his eyes and orders himself another glass of wine.

Camelia has been expecting them to come begging again. Accordo might be officially under the Empire’s control, but they have resources that Niflheim lacks—banks, commerce, good universities, and a well-educated and creative populace. The Emperor isn’t stupid. He must know that to maintain a healthy economy in Accordo, he can’t hold them too tightly in his grasp. They still have some degree of autonomy because it benefits the Empire. She just needs to figure out how to use this leverage to benefit her own people even more. 

“You know that the people of Accordo value scientific progress. I’m sure you will find many enthusiastic collaborators here.” She finishes her drink, and the bartender pours her another.

Izunia leans forward, looming over Besithia’s shoulder, and purrs, “And how enthusiastic are _you_ , my dear?” 

Camelia’s skin prickles, and she straightens up, leaning slightly away. She can’t quite put her finger on why he has such an unsettling presence. She’s dealt with her share of creeps—men like Besithia are fairly easy to understand—but this one is unique.

She looks out the window at the rainy promenade and sips her drink. Then she says, “I suppose it depends. Are you actually making progress? And to what end?” 

Izunia huffs softly and backs away to finally take a seat. Besithia looks like he’s about to jump out of his.

“Progress like you wouldn’t believe!” the scientist boasts, raising a fist in the air. “We have mastered the secrets of _life itself_ , and we are deploying it for the glory of the Niflheim Empire—to feed our people, and grow our military might!”

“Life itself,” Camelia repeats softly. “I’ve heard you say that before, but what does it mean? Botany? Genetics?”

Besithia has a maniacal grin. “I’ve been told not to reveal our secrets to anyone who isn’t _directly_ involved.”

Izunia pats him on the back. “Yes, please do try to contain yourself.” 

It’s becoming increasingly clear to Camelia that she isn’t going to be able to learn any more about what they’re up to without taking some kind of stake in the operation. Cooperating with the Crownsguard may prove useful after all.

“So, how can I help?” she asks.

“I am _so happy_ that you asked!” Besithia booms. “Our experiments have been so successful that we cannot find enough lab assistants to keep up with the pace of the work.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Izunia mutters. 

Besithia ignores him and continues, “I was hoping you could help us recruit enthusiastic and talented scientists—or maybe you could lend us some of your own employees?”

Camelia resists the urge to laugh. There is no way she would let any of her people go to an Imperial laboratory in the middle of nowhere. Smiling, she says, “Why don’t you put out a request for proposals and hire an entire company to staff your facility?”

“Yes, yes, I’ve considered this. Is there any company you have in mind?”

“Have you heard of Celluteck?”

* _Autumn_ *   
* _First Magitek Production Facility, Eusciello_ * 

There isn’t much to do at the facility to entertain oneself. Ardyn has already read all of the books in Verstael’s library—the interesting ones, anyway. He’s not particularly taken with the view out the window. The first snowfall of the year has gone grey and melted a bit, revealing drab patches of dirt as far as the eye can see. Conversation with Verstael is barely tolerable on a good day, even with an ample supply of wine. He’s grown bored with the daemons and the MTs. He doesn’t play chess anymore. 

So he’s been passing the time watching the little human dramas that play out in the facility. There was the illicit love affair between a married maintenance worker and a guard. More recently, he was amused by the passive-aggressive power struggle between the Principal Scientist from Celluteck and Verstael’s Deputy Chief, Sergius. Now, one of the new lab workers has captured Ardyn’s interest with her odd behavior. 

It’s relatively easy for him to slip into the shadows and observe the humans undetected. From this vantage point, he’s seen her testing door handles to locked rooms she has no business entering. He’s listened in on her brief, late night phone conversations about sports scores or the weather. He’s watched her stick things to the underside of chairs, like small papers, bits of tape, or chewing gum. The notes she leaves are meaningless to him—crude symbols or strings of numbers. He thinks she’s probably a spy. The question is, for whom? 

One morning, he’s strolling through the lab half-heartedly wondering where Verstael was all night, when he spots the little spy at a vending machine. He leans against it and wrinkles his nose at the canned coffee she’s just purchased.

  


“You know those things are full of preservatives, don’t you?” he asks.

She cracks open the can and takes a long swig. “Good,” she says, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her lab coat. “I won’t worry about the expiration date.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not for a good long while. The way you lot go through those things, we have a delivery truck here nearly every month.”

_“Hmm.”_ She nods. Ardyn can practically see the gears churning in that pretty head of hers. Then she says, “Makes sense. The hours are long, and the work is boring.”

“And what work would that be?” Ardyn asks, his voice syrupy sweet. “The science, or the espionage?”

The spy wrinkles her brow into a look of confusion and says, “Excuse me?”

A maintenance worker turns the corner, carrying a broom, but he doesn’t stop to sweep this corridor. Ardyn smiles and waits for him to pass. It amuses him to know that somewhere inside her facade of cluelessness, the woman is likely panicking and planning her next move. Unfortunately for her, she has no idea what she’s dealing with.

When they’re alone again, he says, “I think my question was rather straightforward.”

She laughs. “You think I’m a spy? For Celluteck!?”

He continues smiling at her.

“That’s funny.” She finishes her coffee and tosses the can into the bin. Then she lowers her eyes demurely and says, “I suppose it couldn’t go on forever. This sneaking around, finding all the most discreet places in this lab.” Then she looks back up at him with a mischievous smile. “I could show you some of them, if you like.”

More than a little repulsed by the proposition, Ardyn sidesteps her before she can touch his arm. 

She pouts and it’s almost convincing. “Suit yourself, then. Just—please don’t say anything to anyone. I don’t want this to jeopardize Mallia’s position—it’s not her fault. It was _me_ who came on to her, if you must know—”

Ardyn laughs for long enough that the spy begins to look distressed.

“What’s so funny? You haven’t said anything to Chief Besithia, have you?”

He barks out another laugh and dismisses her question with a wave of his hand. “ _Verstael_ wouldn’t be the least bit concerned with the professional ethics of a workplace affair. But no, I haven’t mentioned to him that I’ve discovered a spy. I don’t know who you work for yet.”

A flicker of recognition crosses her face at that. She must be wondering about his security clearance. She opens her mouth, hesitates for a breath, then commits. “A friend of mine booked a ticket for Gralea next Wednesday. Have you heard whether the train will be delayed?”

He recognizes the code phrase, which means that she _is_ one of theirs—one of a few they have embedded in the Crownsguard. It’s strange that no-one alerted him that she was coming here.

Ardyn responds in kind, “I don’t think so. The tracks should be clear.”

“That’s good. I’ll tell her.” She exhales, leaning against a wall. 

“Come,” Ardyn says, sweeping his arm toward the long, empty hallway. 

She follows.

As they walk, he pitches his voice low and asks, “You’ve been here for weeks. Why haven’t you checked in?”

“It’s not so easy—I thought I was being watched.” She shoots him a sideways glance. “And the Lucians demand such frequent reports, I had to spend every opportunity communicating with _them_.”

They fall silent when another lab worker walks past at a brisk pace. When the sound of his footsteps fade away, Ardyn says, “Yes, we certainly don’t want them sending backup.”

“No, sir. We do not.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that you can report directly to me from now on. We’re instituting Eta Protocol.”

Her step falters momentarily, but she quickly recovers. Perhaps she didn’t realize just how far up the chain Ardyn has risen—second only to Iedolas Aldercapt himself. There’s nothing like the promise of untold power to secure one’s place in an empire.

“What have you told them?” he asks.

“Nothing, other than that I’ve made it here.”

They turn a corner and head towards the cafeteria. It’s still early and there aren’t many people around. 

“They’ll be expecting something more interesting, and soon,” Ardyn chastises.

“Yes, I worry that I’m testing their patience.”

“Why not throw them a scrap? Tell them about the clones.”

She glances at him and raises an eyebrow.

“It’s been going on more than ten years,” Ardyn huffs. “Frankly, I’m embarrassed for the Lucians that they haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Alright,” she says, nodding.

“They can busy themselves thinking about that, while Niflheim forges ahead with the really interesting things.” _The things we don’t allow the corporate pawns to see_ , he thinks.

“I’ll make a report today, if I can.”

“Good girl."

She hunches in on herself slightly and mutters, “I need to get to work.”

“Of course. It’s been a pleasure.” Ardyn tips his hat and bows. “You know where to find me.”

“Good day,” she says with a pinched smile, and turns on her heels. Ardyn watches her scurry back down the hall and out of sight. 

This ought to be fun.

* _Winter_ * 

The laboratory is positively humming with progress and possibility. The stainless steel wall panels are gleaming—freshly cleaned by their very own magitek troopers. All of his assistants are hard at work, monitoring the fetuses developing in the gestation tanks, testing the fluids and taking down readings. 

Verstael is feeling very optimistic about this new batch. They might be the best soldiers yet. He’s so excited he can hardly sleep. Last night, he only managed to get an hour—resting his head on the desk in this very room. His hair is a mess this morning. 

Ardyn walks through the doors, and Verstael beams at him. 

“Just look at them,” the scientist says, sweeping his arm towards the collection of small tanks. “With the adjustments I’ve made to their genetic code, they’ll be stronger, quicker—“

“More attractive?” Ardyn interrupts, with a smirk.

Verstael smooths his hair forward, frowning. “Perhaps. I tweaked the androgen receptor gene a bit.” 

“Ah yes, a full head of hair is so important for an armored MT. Truly, this will ensure the Empire’s victory.” 

One of the lab assistants snickers, and Verstael shoots him a glare. “Pay attention to what you’re doing! If those measurements are even one mole off it will cause devastating setbacks to my work—to our work. Do you want to be responsible for wasting the time of all your colleagues here? Wasting the Empire’s limited resources during _wartime_?!”

“N-no sir. I’m sorry, Chief Besithia,” the assistant stammers. 

“Good.” Verstael smiles. “Carry on."

One of his personal goals for this research is the transmigration of his consciousness, perhaps into one of these young bodies. For this reason, correcting his own genetic shortcomings is a worthwhile endeavor, even when the practical applications are not immediately clear.

Ardyn puts an arm around his shoulders and whispers in his ear. “You’re too hard on them. Lighten up.”

“This is not only the future of the Niflheim army, my dear Chancellor,” he whispers back. “This is the key to unlocking the secrets of eternal life. Nothing could be more serious.” He looks away and does not notice Ardyn’s eyeroll. He’s not going to allow the Adagium to ruin his mood. Not today.

“So,” Ardyn asks, strolling along the row of bubbling tanks. “When will these be ready to go into their bassinets?”

“ _Stop_ calling it that,” Verstael hisses. 

He’s had no shortage of obnoxious inquiries from the scientific ethics board in Accordo since he decided to contract with this foreign company, and Ardyn’s cute names for their equipment certainly don’t help matters. Verstael supposes it’s his own fault. Early on, as a simple way to explain the process to his assistants, he referred to the gestation tanks as ‘wombs.’ How was he to know it would make them so uncomfortable with the work?

He clears his throat and explains, “If all goes as planned, these specimens should be ready to transfer to the Primary Incubation Tanks in little more than a month.”

“So soon! You don’t think these little buns need to stay in the oven a bit longer?”

“No!” he snaps. “Emperor Aldercapt has tasked us with growing an army—and quickly. Besides, these don’t need to develop as long as human fetuses do. As magitek troopers, they’ll have everything they need.” 

Ardyn _tsks_ and shakes his head, then lowers his voice again. “You don’t even think of them as human. Do you have any kind of feeling for them at all? Your own _children_.”

Verstael furrows his brow. “They are _not_ children—and yes, I care about these experiments very much. This is my life’s work! Now if you’re only here to criticize and distract me, I would prefer that you leave.”

“As you wish.” Ardyn heads for the door, then turns back to ask, “Will I see you at dinner?”

“Yes, probably.” Verstael accepts a notebook from another lab assistant and begins reading. Without looking up, he adds, “If I’m not too busy.”

“I won’t wait up then,” Ardyn replies, darkly. Then he’s gone.

Verstael tries his best to ignore the twisting, uneasy feeling in his chest. It’s probably for the best. He needs to focus on his work.  


⁂

Ardyn leaves the gestation laboratory, simmering with annoyance. Verstael’s self-importance has been getting on his nerves lately. He knows that much of it is an act, to mask his underlying insecurity about his position in the Imperial military structure as Ardyn has quickly ascended the ranks. That doesn’t make it any less obnoxious. 

He suspects that the reason Verstael is obsessed with these clones is that he’s really fixated on himself. Ardyn wonders if he would even notice if one of them went missing.

While he’s considering this, Ardyn passes the cafeteria and spots his little spy, emptying her tray into the trash. He slows his pace, then hesitates at the intersection of two hallways to wait for her to catch up with him. 

He smiles and says, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Chancellor Izunia.”

“Did you enjoy your breakfast?”

“I did—the finest instant oatmeal taxpayer money can buy.” 

“I do not doubt it.”

They walk in companionable silence for a few minutes until they reach the end of the hall, where there’s a tall stack of crates forming a perfect little alcove to duck in to. Ardyn gestures for her to follow.

“I’ve just had an idea—something that will surely make your foreign superiors _very_ happy.”

The spy blinks at him, and he continues, “Why not bring them a real, live specimen.”

She doesn’t seem pleased with this idea. “That’s—” She frowns. “The logistics of something like that are very complicated.”

“It could be fun!”

“There’s nothing out there for miles. It’s still cold.” She shakes her head. “This region is crawling with Daemons. It’s too risky.”

“ _Come now_ , I think you and your ilk could handle it. You’re professionals! And aren’t you interested in seeing how one of these clones does out there in the wild? It could be an interesting test case—you could monitor the youngster’s progress, and send reports back to me, of course.”

She straightens up and raises her chin. “Is this an order?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” He waves his hands. “Just something to consider. I thought maybe you’d be wanting a route out of here, and an opportunity to impress the Lucians.”

She eyes him skeptically. “I appreciate that, but I’m doing just fine. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Of course.”

Ardyn steps aside so the spy can leave, but if she thinks this matter is over, she is sorely mistaken.

* _Spring_ * 

A man sits hunched on the floor of a cage—one of very few in this particular laboratory that’s not yet occupied by a daemon. He purported to be a deliveryman, but Ardyn caught him trying to break into a restricted wing after he’d finished restocking the vending machines. Yet another task that they’ll have to delegate to the MTs—they do serve so many useful purposes. 

“Wh—what’re you gonna do to me?” the man blubbers. 

Ardyn hasn’t decided that yet. He could try the traditional means of extracting information—persuasion, intimidation, bribery—or he could take the shortcut that’s uniquely available to him.

He nearly forgets to turn on Verstael’s ridiculous machine before he does it—gripping the man’s arm and allowing the inky mist of scourge to waft out of himself and consume his victim. When the man screams, the daemons chitter and move about in the darkness of their enclosures.

Ardyn takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes to process the rush of memories. As he’d suspected, the man was a Lucian agent. And now, Ardyn knows how they’ve been transmitting messages to Crownsguard headquarters, all of their current code phrases, and how to decipher them. This opens up so many delightful possibilities.

Leaving Laboratory D and his pets behind, Ardyn heads off to make a call. Half past three in the morning feels like the perfect time for a deceptively mundane conversation. 

From one of the telephones in the staff lounge, he dials a number in Altissia. A cheerful voice answers, “Sea City Travel!” 

Ardyn speaks with the voice of the unfortunate man. “Yes, hello. My wife previously called to make some reservations and I was hoping I could amend them. The confirmation number is 163-8001.”

“Of course, sir. One moment please.” There’s a flurry of clicking keys on the other end of the line. “Yes, here it is. What do you need?”

“Could you throw in a child’s ticket?”

“Certainly. Let me just add that now.”

“I do hope there won’t be an extra charge. The youngster’s very well-behaved—no trouble at all.”

“I’ll see what I can do!”

⁂

The spy decodes the message from her latest Crownsguard dead drop. Then she checks it two more times before admitting to herself that she read it correctly the first time. She is totally, completely and utterly _fucked_. They want a live clone—in the tank.

She has to figure out how to get the thing out of the facility and into the delivery truck that’s scheduled to arrive on May 1st. Lucis is really pushing its luck by continuing to pose as the vending machine supplier, especially now that delivery drivers aren’t allowed in any further than the loading dock. 

Part of her was hoping she might make it back to Gralea on this assignment—it’s been so long since she’s seen her sister—but it was a foolish thought. 

She considers whether this may actually be a blessing in disguise. Rumors have been circulating the facility that some of her former co-workers have gone missing. There are several theories, ranging from the plausible to the paranoid. She favors the likeliest explanation: that they left with hard feelings and simply fell out of touch. Still, late at night, alone in her dark room, it’s easy to imagine much more sinister possibilities.

She brushes her hair back and twists it into a tight bun. Then she heads to the cafeteria for dinner. 

On the way, she thinks over all of her potential routes from the Primary Incubation Laboratory to the loading dock, trying to work out which way will have the fewest security cameras to deal with. She’ll need a hand-truck to lift the tank. Maybe she should collect some Ebony boxes to slip over the top. The emergency backup battery will only last a couple of hours, so the Crownsguard had better bring a spare if they want their cargo to survive the trip back to Insomnia. This is going to be such a nightmare.

When Ardyn Izunia appears in front of her, it’s the first time she’s been pleased to see him. 

“Good evening, Chancellor.”

He bows and asks, “How would you like to join me for dinner?”

“Well, I was just on my way to the cafeteria.”

“Forget about that, I’m extending my personal invitation to dine in Chief Besithia’s rooms.”

“Oh?” This catches her off-guard.

“Don’t worry, he won’t actually be there. I imagine he’ll spend the rest of the night decanting babies, and it would be a shame to let a lovely meal go to waste.”

“All right, then.” She follows him down another hallway, to a wing that she hasn’t been able to access before now.

The dining room is nothing like the rest of the lab. It’s decorated with stuffy wallpaper and paintings that are right out of a suburban chain restaurant. There’s a large wooden dining table at the center of the room, two table settings, a basket of bread, and a bottle of wine. Jazz music plays softly from speakers near the ceiling. 

Ardyn pulls out a chair for her, and she sits. Once they’re both settled, an MT enters the room, carrying a covered tray.

“I hope you’re not a vegetarian,” Ardyn says, as the trooper reveals a rack of ribs. It smells fantastic.

“Thankfully, I’m not. Where did you manage to get this?” She doesn’t try to hide her enthusiasm. Most of the meat that they get in the cafeteria comes from a can.

He smiles with obvious pride. “From just outside these walls—have you not seen my hunters coming and going?”

The MT returns with fluffy mashed potatoes and a dish of butter.

She looks down at the meat on her plate and back up at Ardyn. “Is it . . . safe?”

“ _Oh_ , it’s perfectly safe for you to eat. This creature wasn’t infected. Even if it had been, I don’t believe that’s how the starscourge is transmitted.” He smirks at her from behind his glass.

She resists the urge to shudder, focusing instead on the taste of her wine. Deciding that it’s worth the risk, she digs into her meal. It’s delicious.

She surveys the room again as she chews. Still no cameras, but they could be hidden.

“Don’t worry,” Ardyn says. “We can speak here—there are no recording devices.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods and sips his wine.

She takes in a breath and says, “You once made a suggestion to me, about a live specimen.”

“Did I?” he teases—looking off at the corner of the room before turning back to her with a widening smile. "Oh, yes, I remember. Have you changed your mind?”

“I have no choice in the matter.” 

“I see, well, that’s unfortunate, but I’m more than happy to assist.”

“Thank you.” She eats a forkful of potato—it’s so much better than the instant stuff they usually get. 

“I can deal with the cameras, don’t concern yourself with that—just focus on taking your prize.”

That’s a huge relief. The Crownsguard’s last agent in maintenance went missing, and in her role as a scientist she has no plausible reason to tinker with any part of the surveillance system. She’ll just have to trust Ardyn to keep his word. He seems particularly enthusiastic about this mission, so there’s no reason to doubt him, other than her own natural skepticism and general unease about the man.

“What about Besithia?” she asks. The Research Chief has been living in the clone laboratories these days, subsisting on a diet of Ebony and chips.

“I’ll make sure he’s out of the way.” 

She nods and drains her glass. Once again, she has no choice but to trust the Chancellor. There’s certainly no one better positioned to deliver on these promises.

“More wine?” he asks, gently waving the bottle at her.

“Please.” She holds up her glass as he refills it.

Ardyn raises his own and toasts,“To the thrill of a good heist!”

She laughs without much effort as their glasses clink.

It might be that she’s getting drunk, or maybe his confidence is rubbing off on her, but she’s starting to think that maybe this won’t be so impossible after all.

She’s going back to Insomnia, and she’s taking a clone with her.

* _May 1, 736_ * 

Ardyn strolls between two rows of MTs standing prettily in formation, each wearing one of the hats in his collection. It’s so nice to see them all getting some use. 

The staff are gathered around the perimeter of this cavernous room, eating cake from little paper plates. A few of them have put on the party hats he provided—they’re purple with bright green stripes or yellow with red polka-dots. Some are just holding their hats or letting them dangle from their wrists by the thin elastic band—clearly not feeling the party spirit. What a shame.

“You may be wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today,” he shouts to the crowd. “As you know, our dear Chief Besithia is in Gralea right now receiving an official commendation from the Emperor himself.”

He pauses to allow the requisite amount of applause, scanning the crowd and making a mental note of anyone who is trying just a bit too hard. Meanwhile, two MTs draped in magenta feather boas pass out champagne flutes.

“Since we cannot join him on this festive occasion, we will say a toast to him here.” Ardyn raises his glass. “To Verstael Besithia!”

From all around him, the humans shout Vertael’s name over a sparkling cascade of clinking glasses. 

Then Ardyn tells them what they’ve no doubt been waiting to hear. “I’m giving you all the rest of the day off!”

There are some cheers, and the staff begin to talk amongst themselves in small groups. A few people are already leaving, which strikes Ardyn as a bit tacky. He sees the little spy across the room and winks at her. Taking his signal, she sets her glass on a crate and slips out the door.

“Now,” he announces, taking a cowboy hat off the head of a passing MT and swapping it with his own, “it’s time for the entertainment!”

Ardyn points his remote toward the ceiling and a raucous Leiden fiddle tune comes blaring through the speakers. He leans back and watches with gleeful pride as his MTs perfectly execute their square-dancing routine. 

The wonders of technology will never cease to amaze.

⁂

The hallways aren’t completely empty, but it doesn’t appear that anyone is going back to work. The spy heads in the direction of her room, but stops at the vending machine where one of Ardyn’s MTs left a hand-truck behind. In the narrow crack between the machine and the wall, she finds two flattened Ebony boxes and a balled-up jumpsuit that’s just a bit too large for her. It’s the uniform the delivery drivers wear. She tries not to dwell on how Ardyn got it. There are more important things to think about, because now comes the tricky part.

Making sure the coast is clear, she quickly wheels the hand-truck down the hallway, barely making it to the next vending machine before she hears footsteps and chatter. It’s easy enough to stash the equipment and buy herself a can of Ebony while she waits for her co-workers to pass.

When she reaches the Primary Incubation Laboratory without anyone spotting her, she leans back against the door and allows herself a moment to breathe.

The lab is empty, except for the infant clones. They all look so peaceful, floating in their tanks— blond hair billowing around their heads like little sunflowers. She has to admit that they’re pretty cute. She chooses one at the end of a row—easier to get onto the hand-truck. 

Just before she unplugs the tank, she’s overcome with the thought that this is a human child. They all are, but she only has the opportunity to save one of them from whatever fate Verstael Besithia has in store. She holds her breath and pulls the plug, exhaling in relief when the emergency battery light switches on. The tank continues to bubble, and the baby continues to float. 

The empty boxes slip easily over the tank, and she hoists it up onto the hand-truck. Then she lets her hair down, wraps her lab coat around her waist and pulls on the jump suit. The legs are so long, she has to cuff them three times.

Now comes the trickier part. 

She rolls down the hallway with unhurried purpose, and she’s almost there when someone comes around the corner. It’s Albertus, who can never remember her name. This annoys her even though it isn’t really her name. Albertus is a slimeball.

She slouches, letting her hair fall into her face as their paths begin to cross. She reaches her fingers up into her sleeve toward the blade she has hidden there.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be in here!” he bellows. “Didn’t they tell you the new rules?”

He doesn’t recognize her. Good. She’s nearly made it through this entire operation without killing anyone, and she takes personal pride in not leaving bodies behind.

“Sorry sir,” she replies, dredging up the accent of her working-class Gralean childhood.

He sneers. “Nobody’s allowed in this facility without proper clearance. I’ll escort you back—just wait for the MTs.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

She follows Albertus to the loading dock. Thankfully, he doesn’t stick around long enough to wonder why she’s loading Ebony _into_ the truck.

⁂

At long last, Ardyn has a moment alone, away from the staff and their tiresome compliments about the terrible cake-from-a-box and cheap sparkling wine that he’s been using to distract them. He finds himself almost missing Verstael, but Ardyn’s probably just eager to see his reaction to the day’s events. It’s going to be so good. Perhaps Verstael will learn some kind of lesson from it all. Really, Ardyn is doing him a favor—helping him put things in perspective.

He looks out the window, at the vast drab stretches of wilderness and the remaining patches of snow. This close to the Glacian’s bedroom, winters are so long. He’s used to it though, after all these years.

He really does need a new hobby. Maybe the little clone will hold his interest—a research project of his very own. Verstael needn’t know anything about it. 

Far below the ridge where the facility sits, Ardyn sees a delivery truck making its way down the road—headed to wherever those trucks go. He whistles a little tune to himself and smiles as he watches it drive safely away and disappear off in the distance. 

_Ta ta_ , he thinks. _For now._

**Author's Note:**

> The FFXV Minibang has been the first fan event like this that I've done and it's been a lot of fun. Thanks to everyone involved! Special thanks to [Rocket Sparkle](https://twitter.com/RocketSparkley) who is a joy to collaborate with and OS from the r/ffxv discord server for taking the time to give me feedback on this. I am forever in debt to her and the rest of that community for helping me keep my fic as canon-compliant as possible and for so many fun theories and headcanons. Credit goes to OS for the spy cooking school, in particular. (Here's an [invite link](https://discord.gg/23hgvyR) if anybody wants to join.)
> 
> Also big thanks to [moonwaif](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonwaif) for reviewing this, and to other fandom pals for your support and encouragement and just generally being lovely people.


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